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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588460">full mast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial'>wintercelestial</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Multi, PWP, Sugar Daddy AU, bottom diavolo LMAO, brat diavolo, some age gap i guess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:13:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The CEO of Morningstar Hotels treats himself to a yacht on his birthday and rails sugar baby Diavolo against, well, the rails.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>full mast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>brat diavolo? sugar baby au? who said that. credit to kibu-me@tumblr's art that spawned 0.5 seconds of the action in this fic lmao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not that Diavolo’s rich enough for his opinion to mean anything, but Gucci’s latest line of seasonal clothing just isn’t doing it for him. Hard pass.</p><p>In fact, forget the clothes, what he’s actually supposed to be buying are new sunglasses. His last pair had fallen into the toilet during a stint in Lucifer’s private jet and he hadn’t been too keen on fishing those back out. Consider his first ten minutes of joining the mile-high club spoiled.   </p><p>Diavolo sprawls out on the plush leather couch in Lucifer’s inner-city condo, one leg slung over the arm of the seat, flipping through various sunglasses on the TV’s shopping channel. Polarized or not? With or without diamond studs? LV, or YSL?</p><p>Also, that pair looks pretty neat. He’ll take one of those too.</p><p>With his shopping cart full of sunglasses for every occasion, Diavolo opens his wallet and frowns at the series of glossy cards stacked inside. Which one of Lucifer’s credit cards should he use today?</p><p>He remains lost in his thoughts until the security keypad on the front door beeps. The lock mechanics whir and click out of place to let the door swing open.</p><p>“I’m back,” a voice calls faintly.</p><p>Lucifer appears in the lounge at the same time Diavolo snaps his wallet shut, payment complete, yawning and stretching languidly after his hard day of being a live-in sugar baby.</p><p>Lucifer dumps his briefcase on another armchair and shrugs off his blazer, striding over to the couch for an indulgent kiss. He doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the length of the receipt plastered across the TV screen, nor at the ridiculous amount spent.</p><p>“How was your day?” Diavolo asks breathlessly. He ogles Lucifer out of the corner of his eye and wonders if that stylish button-up should be buttoned down instead.</p><p>“Splendid. The business deal with RAD Hoteliers has been closed at last.” Lucifer hooks two fingers into his tie and wiggles it loose. “I’ll be watching Arch Resorts crash on the stock market by the end of the week.”</p><p>Diavolo’s no hot businessman, but he knows good things happen when Lucifer’s in a good mood. “Are we celebrating?” he quips. He sits up for another kiss but Lucifer halts him with a finger to his lips. A small smile spreads across his face. His features aren’t getting any younger, but he’s sure ageing like the fine wines he’s so fond of.</p><p>“I’ve already made plans,” Lucifer informs him, “since I suppose today calls for double celebrations.”</p><p>Diavolo’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “Double celebrations?” he echoes blankly. Lucifer’s finger still rests on the curve of his plump lower lip. He can’t tell if that means a threesome or–</p><p>Ah, shit–</p><p>Lucifer leans in alarmingly close. “…You forgot, didn’t you?”</p><p>“No,” Diavolo lies, shrinking back into the couch. “It’s your birthday, right?”</p><p>Lucifer almost looks surprised that he remembers. “Hm, it is. Well, I have to admit it was a bit of a spur of the moment purchase, but I bought another yacht from Solomon.”</p><p>Diavolo’s been a sugar baby for long enough that none of the things these excessively rich bastards do on a whim surprise him anymore. The price tags on the luxury vessels produced by Solomon’s family have more zeroes than Diavolo has letters in his name.    </p><p>“He’s having it brought to one of my islands off the coast,” Lucifer says casually, like he owns a lot of such islands. He does. “I’ve invited a few friends along too. Party on the deck tonight.”</p><p>“Am I coming?” Diavolo grins, mouthing at Lucifer’s finger, but it’s gone before his tongue even touches skin.</p><p>Lucifer straightens up. His eyes flicker down to where the hem of Diavolo’s shirt deliberately rides up his belly, exposing his V-lines and a swathe of smooth skin. “You already are. But if you don’t pull yourself together and stop showing off on my couch, I’ll leave you behind.”</p><p>Diavolo’s grin only stretches wider. He didn’t miss where those eyes went. “That’s not true,” he cackles, poking his tongue out. “You’d never miss a chance to show me off. You would fuck me in front of all your friends if you could.”</p><p>Lucifer would do so many degenerate things to him and that mouth of his if he didn’t have a reputation to uphold.</p><p>He narrows his eyes at Diavolo splayed out on the couch in front of him, still clutching at his stomach in fits of laughter. The audacity of such a comment gives Lucifer half a mind to bend him over one knee right then and there.</p><p>“Fine. Come and be shown off then, brat.” Lucifer swats at Diavolo’s body with his foot. “Get up. I expect you in my shower in five minutes. The helicopter will be here at six.”</p><p>Lucifer is from old money, born rich with a silver spoon in one hand and a mighty fine inheritance in the other. Diavolo’s single child, working class family couldn’t possibly be any more the polar opposite as his parents scrape together the funds for his college degree.</p><p>What Diavolo lacks in money he fortunately has in looks, and spades of it. His cam boy days had been glorious, his stripper nights even more so, but his sugar baby lifestyle?</p><p>Diavolo might as well class himself as nouveau riche, because Lucifer is a <em>very </em>generous man.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The new yacht turns out to be an extraordinary display of luxury. It boasts triple decks, a landing pad on the uppermost one, polished timber flooring and silver guardrails that line the perimeters. The royal blue upholstery matches the accents of the insignia emblazoned on the hull. It’s every inch the kind of extravagance expected from the CEO of Morningstar Hotels. </p><p>The party on the lower deck is already in full swing by the time the last guest arrives and it’s Mammon again, as usual. None of the Goldie Casino buildings have windows but the only one who seems to completely lose track of time while inside is, ironically, the company’s own heir.</p><p>The balmy heat of the late summer sun sees the alcohol flowing, the music pumping and the eighteen-seat jacuzzi bubbling away with a view over the ocean. <br/>Diavolo follows Lucifer around the deck in his beach shorts, not having been permitted to wear anything else as a mild form of punishment for his unruly tongue. His ass already hurts from being pounded silly in the shower, but Lucifer always gets what he wants.</p><p>Wayward eyes of party guests linger on his broad-shouldered figure, on endless bronze skin and locks of hair that fall over mischievous eyes – but he loves it, and basks in all the attention for the cost of nearly nothing.</p><p>It also costs nothing to push Lucifer’s buttons, if the sudden grip on his backside is any indication when Diavolo returns a saucy wink from Asmo, the makeup mogul of Deus Cosmetics.</p><p>Diavolo never tags along for the boring fine dining parties that Lucifer usually attends with business partners and other associated snobs, but that had never been part of their agreement anyway. The smaller social circles of Lucifer’s personal friends are much more approachable, and far less judgemental, even if he doesn’t know all the people in them.</p><p>Asmo’s on-off boyfriend Solomon is playing bartender tonight, pouring drinks from the massive wall of glass bottles and double-door fridges. He dramatically lights various shots on fire like he’s performing magic and turns around occasionally to top up Asmo’s outstretched flute of Dom Perignon. Diavolo spots Levi, who actually works for Lucifer in his sales department, soaking in the jacuzzi. Levi’s not someone he interacts with on a regular basis but he estimates probably a quarter of Lucifer’s fortune alone has been amassed by Levi’s online marketing. The guy’s a shut-in but he’s ruthless on a computer.   </p><p>On the hunt for a snack, Diavolo looks over to see an unfamiliar older face whipping up food at the deck’s mini kitchen. Diavolo hasn’t met him before, but he’s–</p><p>“Barbatos,” Lucifer’s lawyer says, tracking the direction of Diavolo’s line of fire. Simeon takes a sip of his wine, Dior wristwatch catching the sunlight as he lifts the crystal glass to his lips.</p><p>He’s <em>hot</em> is what Diavolo was going to say, but <em>Barbatos</em> will do. He signals Lucifer’s personal waiter to bring him some potato chips instead and she looks offended at his choice of plebeian snack. “Who’s he?”</p><p>“The new executive chef at The Celestial,” Simeon replies, and they watch Barbatos assemble a cheeseboard worthy of being featured in the grandest of cheeseboard museums. The Celestial is Morningstar Hotels’ flagship resort, six stars if there was such a thing, and thousands of dollars for a single night of unrivalled luxury.</p><p>“Milan, Tokyo, London – you name it and he’s worked in a three-star Michelin restaurant there. I heard from Satan that he once made chef Gordon Ramsay cry,” Simeon adds in hushed tones, like he’s just spoken heresy. He’s way too good to be mingling with these people who have so much money they could burn it for fun.  </p><p>Simeon’s a dad of two kids and the closest to Lucifer in age; always picture-perfect, briefcase in hand, dressed in a suit without a single crinkle. Diavolo knows a lot about crinkled suits. He spends a lot of spare time wrinkling Lucifer’s during office quickies.</p><p>Barbatos unexpectedly glances their way as if he knows they’re talking about him. He smiles with an aura that indistinctly reminds Diavolo of Lucifer in the bedroom; stoic and cool and calculating, but with a propensity for a whip where Lucifer would prefer his hands. Diavolo shivers and thinks he might go and chat up someone else instead.</p><p>The loud clink of a spoon against a wine glass draws the attention of the guests to the bar where Solomon stands, waiting for their undivided attention. The DJ quiets the music for a short speech from him and he ends it with a call for a toast.</p><p>“Let us raise a glass to Lucifer, and to Morningstar Hotels.”</p><p>“To Lucifer and Morningstar Hotels!”</p><p>It’s not often that Diavolo gets to see Lucifer wearing attire that isn’t a tailored suit, or Tag Heuer on his wrist and Salvatore Ferragamo at his feet. On nights like this where he’s just in slacks and a plain dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair free of gel to fall loosely around his face, the simplicity of it all has Diavolo dangerously soft for his richest benefactor yet.</p><p>The DJ turns up the music as the last of the sun disappears over the horizon, blasting party beats and heavy bass that Diavolo’s provocatively danced to more than once in the strip clubs he used to work at.</p><p>Asmo drags Belphie out to dance but the latter isn’t having a word of it, shaking him off and giving him the middle finger before slinking away to some dark corner of the deck. Diavolo smothers a laugh behind his fist.</p><p>Belphie’s always been reclusive the few times Diavolo’s bumped into him, preferring very much to stay hidden out of the limelight. He’s an old college acquaintance of Lucifer’s who had struck pharmaceutical gold when he patented – and probably tested on himself – a new sleeping pill, fresh out of grad school. His family’s all from old money like Lucifer is, but his brother is the only one without a pharmaceutical background.  </p><p>Beel himself comes complete with celebrity chef status, his own cooking show, YouTube channel, recipe books, the whole lot. Diavolo can see him hovering around Barbatos like a child and sampling everything left, right and centre. He’s probably also responsible for dragging Belphie along tonight (“C’mon, there’ll be food! <em>Please?</em>”).</p><p>Beel’s not exactly Diavolo’s type, but he sure is a walking hunk of eye candy. Lucifer is a hot man with hot friends, damn.</p><p>The birthday bash runs late into the hot summer night. Belphie’s passed out on a sunchair but nobody knows if it’s from alcohol, sleep or both. There’s a slight commotion as security has to step in to escort a drunk guest down to his room on the lower levels.</p><p>“Promise me you’ll come by in the morning, toyboy,” Satan half-yells, half-slurs as they take him away. Solomon whizzes past to collect his glass before he drops it on the deck. “I know you have dirt on loo… ah, Lucifer… and I want to hear it… ow, stop pulling me or I’ll fuck you up…”</p><p>Sometimes the most inconvenient part about himself, if Diavolo’s allowed any say in it, is his towering height. On one hand big boys with even bigger body parts are totally Lucifer’s thing but on the other, it’s just too hard to take cover and hide when he and Satan run into each other at parties. He hadn’t given the celebrity journalist a single tidbit of juicy gossip (Diavolo considers himself a good boy) but nothing ever stops Satan from trying.</p><p>Some days he’s not exactly sure whose side Satan’s on either, but he has a gut feeling Lucifer specifically invites him to events just for the purpose of keeping him under control. Videos of ‘this is what you did while drunk last night’ have been particularly effective in the past.</p><p>Lucifer may have inherited his father’s hotel empire, but he hasn’t kept it by being <em>nice.</em></p><p>“Diavolo.” He barely hears his name over the thump-thump of the music he’s swaying to, an empty vodka shot glass still in his hand. The intense colour that suffuses Mammon’s face when Diavolo executes a raunchy grind against him is the funniest thing he’s seen all night. He whips around at the end of a slut drop to find Lucifer beckoning at him with a finger. Oops, did he just see that?</p><p>“Come here,” Lucifer says, scowling slightly.</p><p>“Is it bad?” Diavolo holds out his shot glass for a passing Solomon to fill up.</p><p>“Come <em>here</em>.” Sternly now, and Diavolo comes, but not before downing his shot first. Had he been wearing a tie, or even a shirt, he would have been yanked down by the collar to Lucifer’s height but alas, he’s half-naked and there’s nothing to grab him by except the dick in his pants.</p><p>“I see you’re still interested in showing off,” Lucifer mutters into his ear.</p><p>Consider that a yes, Lucifer did see that slut drop.</p><p>Diavolo smiles brazenly down at him. “Showing off and being shown off are two different things, Lucifer.”</p><p>An eyebrow is raised loftily back at him.</p><p>“Six-six-six,” Lucifer finally says, after a long pause of silence. Diavolo squints at him. “The entry code for the second deck. Meet me up there and I’ll show you off like the brat you insist on being.”</p><p>And then he’s gone, off to rub shoulders with the elite like he hadn’t just threatened Diavolo with a good time.</p><p>“Hey! Where ya going, sugar baby?” Mammon yells after him, as he hurries off. “Ya owe me a–”</p><p>The yacht has so many rooms that Diavolo nearly gets lost among the maze of hallways trying to find the stairs. He ends up taking the elevator instead, punching in the access code for the middle deck when the screen prompts him.</p><p>The grandeur that greets him matches that of the lower deck, although to a much smaller scale for more private occasions. The mini bar is empty, with all the alcohol having been transported down for the party. The braziers provide lowlight and sunchairs are dotted around the deck.</p><p>Diavolo leans against the guardrails to survey the party below, the metal starkly cold against his skin. He’s not that far above; the blaring music is still loud and clear and he can even make out everyone’s faces from where he stands. Someone would only have to look up for a moment of stargazing, focus, and they’d see him.</p><p>Beel’s still eating out of Barbatos’s hand but Mammon’s joined Levi in the hot tub, much to the latter’s disgust about the amount of sweat he’s just added to the water. Lucifer is–</p><p>“Ah, good, I see you waited like I asked.”</p><p>Diavolo can tell whose footsteps approach him, based solely on the scuff of socks against the deck’s smooth wood. It’s the same sound of soft slippers against the kitchen floor of Lucifer’s condo, shoes toed off at the entrance.</p><p>“My time will cost you fifty dollars,” he says cheekily, and yelps when a hand comes down hard on his ass.</p><p>“As opposed to what you put on my credit card today?” Lucifer nevertheless pulls out his wallet, fat with cash and cards, and plucks out a single hundred-dollar bill that he tucks into the waistband of Diavolo’s beach shorts. “Happy?” he says with a mock roll of his eyes.</p><p>“I am, but you aren’t.” Diavolo throws a glance over his shoulder to find Lucifer standing dangerously close behind him. He turns around until his back meets the silver rails and Lucifer folds his arms. “It’s your birthday, why are you grumpy?”</p><p>The withering smile Lucifer gives him is one Diavolo’s grown rather used to receiving when he’s misbehaved one too many times. It might be true that too much of something makes one immune to it.</p><p>“To start with,” Lucifer begins dryly, “I’ve just heard from my accountant that you fired the gardener at my countryside estate.”</p><p>“I saw him planting lilies. You hate those.” Diavolo shrugs innocently.</p><p>Well, that’s awfully observant of him.</p><p>Lucifer runs a fingertip over the solid plane of Diavolo’s belly, tracing up the V-lines and abs that he so likes to proudly display. “Secondly,” he adds, “I know you’ve been making eyes at Asmo all night, right under my nose. <em>And</em> at my new executive chef at The Celestial too.”</p><p>They aren’t exclusive, but Lucifer is just a tad possessive in the kind of way that makes Diavolo wish they were. Or, perhaps possessive isn’t the right word. Brandishing the things they own seems to be a recurring trait in the world of the rich and famous.</p><p>“I flirted with Asmo? So?” Diavolo shrugs again, and Lucifer’s fingers skid to a stop. “Solomon also flirted with Asmo.”</p><p>His point is so… <em>illogical</em> that Lucifer doesn’t even have an argument for it. “Solomon can have his way with Asmo on the helipad for all I care. But <em>you – </em>you’re coming close to getting a decent thrashing.”</p><p>That insolent mouth would look just so much better if were occupied and stuffed full. Lucifer’s slacks suddenly start to feel uncomfortably tight across the front.</p><p>Diavolo pouts down at him. “You mean I’m not up here to be shown off?” he gasps. Oh, the shock, like this doesn’t happen at least twice a week. Lucifer’s palm sits firmly on his chest. “You’re going to make an example of me instead?”</p><p>Diavolo tries for stealing a kiss but his attempt is met with a hand clamping tight around his jaw.</p><p><em>No</em>. <em>Behave.</em></p><p>“Kneel down,” Lucifer sighs.</p><p>“Oh?” Diavolo inclines his head at the challenge directed at him in the form of a lethal stare.</p><p>“I said, <em>kneel.</em>”</p><p>The way Diavolo obediently sinks down onto his knees makes Lucifer want to reduce him to a sordid, whimpering mess. He places his foot squarely on the centre of Diavolo’s chest to pin him back against the railing, fingers floundering in the rush to unzip his own pants, cock slipping out of the confines of his underwear. He strokes himself to full hardness, watching Diavolo watch him, golden eyes open wide and entranced. A finger under Diavolo’s chin tilts his smitten gaze up and the expensive scent of Lucifer’s aftershave wafts between them.</p><p>“Well done, brat. Open up, since you’ve proven your mouth hasn’t been useful for anything else today.”</p><p>Diavolo gulps as the pressure on his chest bears down. “Y-yes…?”</p><p>Lucifer drops his leg and threads a hand through the red of Diavolo’s hair, soft and freshly washed mere hours ago, guiding him closer so he can press his cock past those eager, waiting lips.</p><p>Diavolo makes his mouth useful after all.</p><p>He chokes back what he can, gagging on the rest until drool trails down his chin and tears threaten to spill out of his eyes. Lucifer brushes them away when he sweeps the hair from Diavolo’s forehead, murmuring quiet encouragement and steady praise. Not having to hear a single recalcitrant word back tops it off.</p><p>Diavolo coughs and his throat constricts in spasms around the cock lying thick and heavy on his tongue. The fingers in his hair let him pull away briefly to catch his breath.</p><p>“<em>Lucifer</em>,” he splutters out, lips pink and swollen and shiny with spit, “if all you wanted was a birthday blowjob to christen your new yacht, why didn’t you just <em>say </em>so?”</p><p>Ah, Lucifer almost regrets letting him have air.</p><p>He seizes Diavolo by the arm and hauls him up off the deck, spinning him around roughly so he faces out over the party again. There’s no missing the outline of the cock in Diavolo’s beach shorts, erect and leaking a small damp patch to one side.</p><p>“Bend over,” Lucifer orders, in a tone of voice that leaves <em>no</em> room for disobedience.</p><p>Diavolo’s back dips enticingly as he braces his forearms against the guardrails. A fingernail drags the back of his shorts down past the curve of his ass and he swallows.</p><p>“That attention you like so much?” Lucifer hums, pleased with what he sees. “Go on… show off and make some noise. Someone might notice you if you’re loud enough.”</p><p>There’s the snap of a cap and Diavolo squirms under the cold lube on Lucifer’s fingers as they penetrate the rim of his entrance, only to find him still delightfully stretched out from their earlier romp in the shower.</p><p>“You’re really going to do this,” Diavolo says, in a daze.</p><p>Lucifer replaces his fingers with the slicked-up head of his cock, slowly sheathing himself between the ass cheeks spread open for him. “Too late for second thoughts, brat.”</p><p>“What if, ah… they see you?”</p><p>Lucifer tugs Diavolo’s head back by the fingers twisted in his hair and the latter keens at how rough his touch is. “Have you seen the size of yourself?” he snorts. “They’ll see you<em> long</em> before they see me<em>.</em>”</p><p>Diavolo moans under his breath and swears he doesn’t have an exhibitionist streak, but he’d well and truly be a liar if he said he wasn’t having a grand time being fucked senseless in semi-public.</p><p>Taking it up the ass in front of Lucifer’s unknowing friends and party guests, just like Diavolo had baited him, does make it ten times better.</p><p>This must be what it feels like to be drunk on power.</p><p>It only takes all of one unrestrained groan of pleasure to expose his location, the wanton sound accidentally slipping out of his mouth when Lucifer’s cock hits somewhere punishingly deep inside him.</p><p>Asmo looks up curiously from the jacuzzi, where he’s in his bikini and canoodling with Solomon.</p><p>The mortified blush on Diavolo’s face spreads right down to his neck and shoulders when Asmo laughs and waves back at him.</p><p><em>Caught</em>. He cums so hard in his beach shorts that he starts buckling at the knees.</p><p>When they eventually do give way Lucifer fucks him face first into the deck, hands securing him by the hips until he has Diavolo pleading incoherently beneath him, spent and overstimulated. The hundred-dollar bill from the waistband of his shorts escapes in the ocean wind, soaring over the second deck and down into the mass of bodies on the lower deck’s dance floor.</p><p>Anybody who looks up to see where it came from will be just in time to see Lucifer blow his load in Diavolo’s ass.   </p><p>His sugar baby’s quite the stunning visual, elbows and knees rubbed red and fingers scrabbling desperately at the polished timber as if it were the sheets of Lucifer’s king bed.</p><p>God, he looks irresistible and he knows it.</p><p>Diavolo shudders around the girth of the cock buried inside his ass as the last remnants of climax are emptied into him, flopping down onto the deck completely when Lucifer pulls out with a hiss. He thinks he might have to lie there for an hour or two after this.</p><p>Lucifer cleans himself up before tucking his length back into his pants, eyeing Diavolo’s spread-eagled form still blissfully laid out on the floor. Cum soaks him front and back, dripping obscenely across the top of his thighs. How satisfying.</p><p>“Have you had enough yet?” Lucifer reaches for a fluffy towel on a sunchair and tosses it at him.</p><p>“No more,” Diavolo wheezes at him, trying to lift his head off the deck to give Lucifer the biggest puppy eyes he can muster. Too hard. He puts his head back down. “Please…”</p><p>“Serves you right, then. How the entire ship didn’t see you, I have no idea.” Lucifer’s footsteps cross the deck once more, this time in his leather shoes. He peers down at Diavolo, his hands in his pockets as he nudges him in the shoulder with a foot. “How long are you going to lie there for?” he asks.</p><p>“Do I have to go back? Asmo’s never going to let me forget this.” Diavolo levels a pout at him, but he may as well make a request from a wall. Every guest is going to know what he’s been up to the second he waddles downstairs.</p><p>Lucifer shakes his head. “Join us when you’re ready then,” he says, but it means <em>come soon</em>. “I have something else for that shameless mouth of yours.”</p><p>Diavolo flushes furiously at how his stupid, masochistic brain responds to such a command by sending a wave of dirty thoughts straight to his dick. “<em>Again</em>?” he whines.</p><p>“Birthday cake, brat. Where is your mind?”</p>
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